


Sick Day

by LadyMadrigal



Series: The Kensington Tales [4]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMadrigal/pseuds/LadyMadrigal
Summary: Another chapter in my Human AU. Aziraphale comes down with the flu as it makes its way through Jim Beach's office and Crowley fusses over him. No real plot, just lots and lots of fluff.This is after "You Were A Good Car."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Kensington Tales [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941532
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> It's the flu, not the coronavirus. This is more or less based on the last time I had the flu, twenty years ago, except I had to fuss over myself.

It had hit Aziraphale Shepard more or less like the proverbial freight train.

He’d felt fine when he woke up, fine when he arrived at the office. However, somewhere around ten or so, he’d started not feeling very fine at all. His nose had abruptly started running – he’d gone through the better part of the box of tissues on his desk by eleven – he was getting a nasty headache and everything was starting to hurt. Plus, he was hot one moment, shivering the next, his entire body feeling raw and strange. 

“Zira, are you all right?” his boss, Jim Beach, said, looking concerned. “You’re awfully pale.” Granted, Aziraphale was pale naturally, with his white-blonde curls and big blue eyes – but this wasn’t his usual pallor. 

“Not really,” Aziraphale admitted. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“Probably that flu that Prue came in with,” Maddy said. A nasty little surprise had popped up right at the end of flu season, and was making the rounds. And the office manager had been thoughtful enough to come in and spread the love. 

“Just my luck,” Aziraphale sighed unhappily, blowing his nose for what felt like the thousandth time that hour. “Watch me make everyone else sick now.” He gave them all a mournful, guilty look. 

“I think Prue already took care of that,” Jim said. One of the three partners, Ned, was already out with it, along with two of the junior partners and one of the interns. He himself had felt like he was coming down with it the other day, but it had worked itself out after an early departure from work and a good night’s rest. “They’re saying the one good thing is that it’s relatively mild.”

“Mild as compared to what? Getting hit by one train instead of two?” Aziraphale blew his nose again, wincing as his ear popped. “Maybe I should run to Boots on my lunch and get something for this.” 

“You’ve got a ton of sick time. Why don’t you go home and rest?” Holly, the third secretary, said. “Get Crowley to take care of you.” 

“I hate to leave you short…” He had to grab yet another tissue to stifle a sneeze. 

“You’re not. Take care of yourself, sweetie,” Maddy said.

As much as he hated to, he had to admit it was probably a good idea. He really was feeling quite ill. 

“Will you be okay walking home?” Holly said. It was about a fifteen-minute walk back to his and Crowley’s place. 

“I should be.” He didn’t sound convinced. 

“You’re not walking anywhere, darling.” That was the inimitable Freddie Mercury, one of Jim’s clients and Crowley’s cousin-in-law. 

“Exactly.” Tianna Mercury, Crowley’s cousin and Freddie’s wife, poked her head out of the conference room. “I’ve got my car. I’ll take you.”

“That’s too much trouble,” Aziraphale tried to protest, but he really wasn’t sure he felt like walking. He’d been wondering about the bus.

“Dear, it’s freezing out, you’re sick, you don’t need to be walking,” Freddie said as Tianna nodded. “Don’t worry. We’ve got you, as Crowley says.”

~*~

“You’ll be okay from here?” Tianna said. They were at the door to Crowley’s – well, his and Crowley’s – flat. 

Aziraphale nodded. “I’ll be fine. And thank you for the ride over.” He managed a wan but grateful smile. 

“Anytime, love. You sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” He didn’t seem to be seriously ill, but she was still concerned. 

“I’m fine. Or I will be. I think I just need a nap and it’ll go away.” That was a total lie and he knew it. This wasn’t going away overnight. 

“Okay.” She sounded a bit dubious. “You call me or Freddie right away if you need anything, promise?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

As a child, Aziraphale had usually been sent to school no matter how bad he was feeling. He’d be dosed with paracetamol and told to “tough it out like a man.” It certainly hadn’t made him tough, he thought, letting himself into the flat he shared with his boyfriend Crowley Deveraux-Gordon, who was most likely at the studio with his own band. No matter. Poor Aziraphale knew he wouldn’t be much in the way of company. He was, despite his assertions to the contrary, absolutely miserable. His entire head was clogged, not just his nose, he was both shivering and drenched in an icy sweat and his entire body ached with exhaustion, even though it wasn’t even one PM. He hung his coat up on the rack near the door, made his way to the front room and curled up on the sofa, cold and horridly uncomfortable, but not feeling well enough to do anything about it. He also felt bad about leaving work. Never mind that he could barely keep his head up, let alone do anything productive. He let his eyes slip closed, shivering in the grips of another chill and wishing he at least felt well enough to fall asleep. 

He didn’t hear his mobile, forgotten in his coat pocket, ring. 

~*~

“That’s weird. He isn’t answering.” Crowley frowned at his own phone. He’d just tried to call Aziraphale for the third time. 

“He’s probably not at his desk or something,” Jamie Rossi, his band’s bass player, pointed out. They were trying to hash out a new song, but not getting much of anywhere.

“Yeah, but…” Crowley couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. “And where’s that pen I just had?” He rummaged around on the nearby table, which was littered with papers, coffee cups and a few soda cans. 

“Here.” Drummer Richard Paxton said, reaching over and plucking the errant Biro out of the odd little knot at the back of Crowley’s head. He had the front of his long wavy red hair pulled back in what amounted to a messy little bun, with the rest falling free. “You’re getting to be as bad as your boyfriend. And if you’re that worried, call his work number. He won’t mind.”

“He always says he’d rather I call his mobile.” Crowley decided to try the other number anyway. 

~*~

Back at the office, Maddy heard Aziraphale’s phone ring, but didn’t get to it in time to answer. She caught a glimpse of Crowley’s number, though. He was ringing her by the time she got back to her desk. 

“Hey, Crowley. Zira’s not here. He wasn’t feeling well, so we finally got him to go home.”

“He must be feeling bad.” Crowley immediately went from being mildly curious as to his angel’s whereabouts to very worried. “He was fine this morning.”

“It’s probably flu. Prue was thoughtful enough to share it with everyone,” Maddy said. 

“My poor angel. Thanks, Mad.”

“Is everything okay?” Jamie said when he got off the phone.

“Not really. He went home sick. I’m going to see if he’s okay.” He hoped the reason Aziraphale wasn’t answering his phone was that he was just asleep.

~*~

Aziraphale was in fact half-dozing and quite out of it when he felt a gentle hand stroking his hair. “Mmm?” He opened his eyes, trying to focus.

“Angel?” It was Crowley, sitting on the sofa with him, his hip at the soft curve of his angel’s belly. “Poor thing. Maddy said you weren’t feeling well.” That had apparently been an understatement. 

“You better not get too close. I think it’s the flu,” Aziraphale said miserably. “The one the vaccine doesn’t help much with, you know?” Even in his viral haze, he had to admit that Crowley was looking – well, hot. He had the sides of his long wavy red hair pulled back in yes, a small bun with a Biro stuck in it that should have looked ridiculous but somehow didn’t. The rest was hanging loose. A few strategic curls had escaped the confines of whatever he was using as a hair tie to frame his face. The gossip sites couldn’t get enough of the adorable contrast between the plump, angelic Aziraphale and the quirky, flame-haired Crowley, arguably one of the most awkward, gangly collection of limbs ever to masquerade as a human being. 

“I think you might have gotten it from me.” Like Jim, Crowley hadn’t been feeling too great a few days earlier, but it seemed to have gone away without much bother. “Poor baby.” Aziraphale was shivering violently but feverishly hot to the touch, very pale save for a hectic flush across his cheeks. His eyes were already ringed with dark smudgy circles. Crowley couldn’t help but think that even in this state he looked like some ethereal Victorian beauty dramatically stricken with consumption. Whatever that had been. 

“I’ll be all right in a bit…” Aziraphale tried to rouse himself enough to at least sit up, but he couldn’t because of how Crowley was sitting. It really wasn’t worth the effort, anyway. 

“I don’t know about that, sweetie. You have a fever.” Crowley pressed the back of his hand to Aziraphale’s forehead. “I should – oh shit. We don’t have a thermometer, do we?”

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t one of those things you thought of before you needed one. 

“I’ll call the doctor’s office, okay? See if they can get you in.” Crowley kissed his forehead, then fetched a blanket to tuck around him. “Just rest, okay love? Crowley’s here.”

Aziraphale nodded. He had no idea why or how Crowley had talked to Maddy, but right now he was glad that he had. 

~*~

As Crowley had suspected, Aziraphale’s doctor wanted to see him as soon as possible, squeezing in a two-fifteen appointment. Crowley bundled his angel up well against the chilly mid-February air and whisked them over in his old Bentley, grateful for both the car park behind their building and the one at the medical offices. He didn’t want to walk or try to catch the bus with Aziraphale feeling so poorly. 

He was surprised to find the waiting room fairly quiet, with only a few other patients waiting to be seen. Aziraphale sank down on the nearest chair, shivering again. He felt dazed. He just wanted to be back home, huddled on the sofa, but he wasn’t complaining about being dragged to the doctor’s office. At least Crowley was trying to help. 

“My poor angel.” Crowley sat down with him after checking them in. He put his arms around poor Aziraphale, who snuggled close, closing his eyes. 

“Aziraphale Shepard?” The nurse startled them a few minutes later. Aziraphale was surprised but grateful when Crowley came along, keeping a protective arm around him. 

~*~

Twenty minutes and one flu test later, Aziraphale’s doctor confirmed what they already knew. 

“It’s the flu. That Sydney Type A strain that’s going around.” London was apparently the epicenter of a mini-outbreak. “When did it start, exactly?”

“This morning.” Aziraphale shivered with a sudden chill and blew his nose on a brown paper napkin he’d fished from his coat pocket, wincing at the roughness of the paper and at his ear popping again. He was able to get one half-breath through his nose before it clogged again. 

“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” Crowley fretted. 

“He should be.” She looked at him with a smile. “Zira, your chest and lungs sound clear. I think it’s just up in your head. I’m going to give you both a script for Tamiflu. That should help knock it out.” 

“I think he might have gotten it from me,” Crowley said. 

“We’re not taking chances with this going around,” she said. “If one person in a household gets the flu, we’re treating everyone. And Crowley, you know the drill. Keep him warm, plenty of fluids, let him get plenty of rest…”

“Don’t feed me after midnight and keep me away from water,” Aziraphale added.

“You see why I love him?” Crowley got up to kiss his boyfriend’s forehead. “Silly angel.”

The doctor laughed. “He should be fine. Just keep an eye on him. And Zira? I’m putting you out of work for the rest of the week. I don’t want you going back before Monday, okay?”

He nodded, although he had intended to try to make it in the next day. 

~*~

“Are you sure you’ll be okay, sweetheart?” Crowley fretted. It was about forty minutes later and they were back at the flat. He needed to pick up the prescription and a few other items, but Aziraphale was in no shape to stand in line with him at the pharmacy. 

Aziraphale nodded. He was curled up on the bed, wrapped in the blanket and shivering. “I’m going to stay here.” He meant on the bed. He didn’t feel like moving. 

“Promise?” Crowley kissed his forehead. 

Aziraphale nodded again. He was already fading into sleep. Crowley tucked another blanket around him.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, baby.” He kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head. “I love you.”

Aziraphale managed a small drowsy smile. “I love you, too.” Some small part of his felt guilty for putting Crowley out, but the fact was, he really needed someone to take care of him right now.

Crowley gave the heat a little bump before he left – the flat seemed to cool to him, so he could imagine how chilly it felt to Aziraphale. He was already making a mental list of things he needed to get for his angel – cold and flu medicine, chicken soup – lots of that – lotion tissues, lip balm for his poor nose, an electric blanket – and a thermometer. 

~*~

“Angel?”

Aziraphale looked up as Crowley sat down, managing a faint smile. “You’re back.” He’d been half-asleep, lost in a strange dream where Maddy was a Time Lord, he was really an angel and owned a bookshop, and Crowley was apparently his demon lover – for real. The demon part, not the lover bit. That part already was real. 

He liked the idea of owning a bookshop, too.

“My poor angel.” Crowley stroked his hair. “I got a few things. I hope something helps. Let’s see. They gave you Tamiflu, but I got you Nyquil and Dayquil as well. Plus the thermometer we didn’t have. Let’s see – chicken noodle soup, this…” He pulled out a package containing an electric blanket. “This for your nose…” It was a tin of beeswax lip balm. “Vapor Rub patches – they’re new - And these.”

“You really did think of everything.” Aziraphale was glad to see a box of tissues with lotion. His nose was already raw. “I hope you remembered the Lysol to douse me in so I don’t get you sick.”

“I think I’m actually the one who made you sick,” Crowley pointed out, leaning over to kiss his forehead, relieved that his beloved Aziraphale’s sense of humor was still intact. “My poor angel.” He’d also gotten another box of Earl Gray tea and a tin of cocoa. He wanted to make sure they had plenty of Aziraphale’s favorite comfort drinks on hand. 

“You’re going to be so tired of dealing with me in no time,” Aziraphale said. He hated to think what Gabriel would have done had he ever gotten sick in their short time together. Probably kicked him out until he was well. Or just kicked him out. 

“Me? Nah.” Crowley stroked his hair back. “Here’s what we’re going to do. First, I’m getting you some water for this…” He meant the Tamiflu. “Then you’re getting a nice warm bath and your pajamas. Then I’m fixing you a can of soup and some tea, and you’re going to eat something and get some rest. Okay?” He realized as he spoke that he really was turning into his mother. Which, in this situation, probably wasn’t a bad thing. 

Aziraphale couldn’t argue with any of it. 

~*~

Crowley ended up staying with Aziraphale while he was in the bath, a bit concerned that he might be wobbly from his illness and from not eating. He helped him out, dried him off and helped him into his pajamas, then tucked him in with the electric blanket and a couple of regular ones before taking his temperature. 

“It’s down a bit, sweetie,” he said. “Do you want the Nyquil now?”

“I’ll be out cold if I take that,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“Then you’re getting your soup first. You need to eat something.” Crowley handed him the box of tissues. “Stay here and rest, okay love?”

“Okay. And Crowley? Thank you. You’re being so wonderful to me.”

“Oh baby. This is the least you should expect when you’re sick.” Crowley kissed the top of his head, then headed for the kitchen.

Aziraphale snuggled under the covers with his box of lotion tissues, listening to Crowley banging things around while he searched for the right pan. Had he been alone, he would have been absolutely miserable by now, but instead he was feeling safe, warm and very, very loved. Crowley had switched a couple of the lights on, so the bedroom was cozy against the encroaching dark. He sighed. He wasn’t sure if it was the Vapor-Rub patch or the medication from the doctor, but his congestion had eased enough for him to breathe through his nose. It was still raw and his sense of smell was nonexistent, but at least he could breathe properly. 

For being sick, this wasn’t entirely awful.

~*~

“I guess this is the right one?” Crowley held up the larger of the two light blue saucepans that Aziraphale had bought right after they moved in together. 

Mehitibel, their cat, gave him a little tail switch that he supposed was a shrug. He had just fed her, so she was far more interested in the chicken kibble with a scoop of “Scrumptious Salmon” canned food on top than she was in her one human’s current culinary crisis. 

“I mean, it has to be, right?” He knew it was what you heated soup up in, he just wasn’t sure about the size. It hadn’t occurred to him to microwave it. Aziraphale stuck to using the microwave to defrost things, sometimes heat up leftovers and make popcorn, but not much else. One of the first things he’d taught Crowley, who had grown up splitting time between the UK and the US was that one did _not_ , under any circumstances, use it to heat water for tea. One of the other things he’d bought in his flurry of ordering kitchen items was a proper kettle, which, in his adorably fussy manner, he’d insisted Crowley actually use. 

He filled the kettle and put it on the stove, then wasted several minutes trying to find the can opener before realizing that the soup can had a pull tab. Cooking was very much his angel’s thing, not his. Although he tried his best to be helpful. He was more than willing to help out as long as Aziraphale told him what needed to be done, and he always did the dishes. It was the absolute least he could do, he supposed. Well, that and – this. He was still worried, even though he knew that Aziraphale was going to be fine. He didn’t like seeing his angel sick. 

He really hadn’t known it was possible to love anyone as much as he did Aziraphale Shepard. 

~*~

Aziraphale woke up when Crowley brought the soup in, along with a mug of Earl Gray tea. 

“Here you go, sweetheart. This should help a little,” he said. 

“I may be okay to go in to work,” Aziraphale said, sitting up. 

“To work? No way, angel. You’re out until Monday, at least. My orders. Forget doctor’s orders.” Crowley sat down on the other side of the bed. 

“What day is today?” Aziraphale said, confused. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep and thought it was the next morning – or morning, at any rate.

“It’s still Wednesday,” Crowley said gently. 

“It is?” Aziraphale blinked a couple of times. “How long was I asleep?”

“About half an hour.” _Gah. He’s adorable._

Aziraphale almost wanted to argue that he’d be fine to go to work the next day, but he really didn’t feel well enough to. He was still weak and exhausted and aching, feeling even more dazed and dizzy than he had earlier. He suspected some of it was from not eating, so he made himself finish the soup, much to Crowley’s approval. 

“Atta angel. I’m going to get the Nyquil now and clean up the kitchen, then I’ll be back in to stay with you. Okay?” He leaned over to kiss Aziraphale’s forehead. 

Aziraphale nodded. 

~*~

After Crowley got the kitchen cleaned up, he came in to stay with Aziraphale, who was glad to have company, even though he didn’t feel much like talking. He was curled up, mostly asleep, with Crowley reading in bed next to him. The Nyquil he’d taken was slowly taking effect. He usually didn’t take it because it usually led to nightmares, but this time, instead of being stressed out, uncomfortable and miserable in addition to feeling horrid, he’d been fussed over, fed, appropriately medicated and snugly tucked into the plushest bed in existence, with his ever-adoring boyfriend there to take care of him if he did have any bad dreams. He was, as much as was possible with the flu, actually happy. 

“Crowley?” he murmured sleepily, looking up.

“What, angel?” Crowley stroked his hair. 

“I love you.”

“And I love you.” Crowley kissed his forehead. “I’m right here, love. Get some sleep, okay?”

Aziraphale nodded and snuggled deeper into the blankets. 

~*~

The next morning, Aziraphale wasn’t feeling any worse – he thought he might have felt a little bit better – but he quite honestly didn’t feel like getting out of bed for long. Crowley, who had probably missed his calling as a nurse, sent him for a shower and change of pajamas, quickly stripping the bed and putting fresh sheets on it. 

“Oh, Crowley. You don’t have to do all this. I’ll be fine, really.” Aziraphale was starting to feel guilty over putting his boyfriend out. 

“I know. But I want to, angel,” Crowley said. “It’s what my mom did for me when I was sick. Didn’t your mom take care of you like this?”

Aziraphale shook his head as he climbed back into bed. “No. I was expected to take paracetamol and go to school, then keep up with my chores. Being sick meant you’d done wrong and God was punishing you, according to my father. So you didn’t get a break.”

“I’ll bet anything that when he was sick, he stayed curled up in bed whimpering all day,” Crowley said. 

“Pretty much.” Aziraphale said. “And we couldn’t make a sound or we’d be in for a whipping when he got out of it. I always got one. Anything he didn’t like, my brothers blamed on me. You’re lucky you’re the oldest. It really sucks being the youngest sometimes.”

“Sorry not sorry, angel, but your father is an asshole. In fact, your whole family sucks,” Crowley said, sitting down and holding his arms out. “Who does that to someone?!”

“If I felt better, I might try to argue with you, but right now, I can’t.” Aziraphale willingly snuggled into the offered embrace. “One of my sisters is really nice, though. She kind of raised me after my father fired Nanny Rose.”

“I didn’t know you had sisters.” His father’s online bio had mentioned “seven good sons,” none of whom were Aziraphale. “How many of you are there?”

“Nine so far. He’s ashamed to have so many girls. Then to top it off, one of the boys turned out to be – well, me.”

“Geez. I have nothing but sisters. And my dad is fine with it.” Crowley hugged him tighter. 

“Yeah, but your dad’s nice,” Aziraphale pointed out. “And aren’t you supposed to be in the studio now?”

“No, not until next week. Remember?” Their demo album was going nowhere with dismaying rapidity. “Angel?”

“What?” Aziraphale looked up at him.

“I’m starting to think that I may not be cut out to be a rock god after all.” He was trying to be funny, but his sad, uncertain expression belied his true feelings. 

“You can always do something else. Just – don’t cut your hair, please.” Not that the only reason he loved Crowley was his hair, but he really did love twining his fingers through his boyfriend’s long, messy locks. 

“No plans to do that, angel.” He hugged Aziraphale tighter. “And I have enough money that I probably wouldn’t have to actually do anything for the rest of my life, provided I don’t do something stupid like try to buy Denmark or something. But I don’t want to just be known as the idiot son of famous parents. You know? I’d like to figure out something at least semi-useful to do with my life.”

“Tell me about it,” Aziraphale sighed. “Except my parents are idiots, too.” He put his hand over his mouth, eyes wide. 

“Atta angel.” Crowley kissed the top of his head. Aziraphale was finally starting to outwardly rebel against his abusive family, even if it was only occasionally and to nobody but Crowley. 

“That was bad. It had to be the fever talking.” Aziraphale looked at him in dawning horror, as if he expected to be struck down for his sinful thoughts. 

“Or just an angel who’s sick of their shit and not going to take it anymore,” Crowley said. 

“Yeah, but Crowley, no, I…” He looked wide-eyed at his boyfriend. 

“Standing up for yourself is good,” Crowley pointed out. 

“No it isn’t. That’s how – bad things happen,” Aziraphale said, then fumbled for a tissue to blow his nose. 

“Okay, I can see we have some stuff to work on when you’re feeling better,” Crowley said. “Like teaching you the power of telling idiots to bugger off.” He hugged Aziraphale closer. 

Aziraphale was quiet for a few minutes, happy – or as happy as one could be with the flu – just being snuggled. 

“Crowley?” He finally looked up. “If you’d rather be someplace else, I’ll be fine here.”

“Angel, there is no other place I’d rather be than here with you. I feel bad that you’re sick, but I love being here with you. Now if you want me to leave you alone so you can sleep, that’s another thing. In that case, I’ll be in the other room.” Crowley kissed his forehead. 

“Actually, I’d rather you held me,” Aziraphale admitted, snuggling closer. He was about to fall asleep again, though. 

~*~

When he awakened again several hours later, it had clouded up outside, looking very chilly and raw. He, however, was warm and comfortable and definitely starting to feel better. As he sat up, looking around, Crowley came in with a pill and glass of water. 

“Perfect. You’re awake. Time for your Tamiflu,” he said. 

“I think it’s helping.” Aziraphale smiled at him. “Either that or you are. Probably both.”

“You look better.” Crowley waited until Aziraphale had taken the pill, then pressed the back of his hand to his angel’s forehead. “Your fever seems to be gone.”

Aziraphale set the glass on the night table to hug Crowley. “Thank you for taking care of me. You didn’t have to do all this. But – I’m really glad you did.”

Crowley hugged him back. “I want you well, baby. I love you so much.”

~*~

“Zira! You’re back. How are you, sweetie?” Holly said. It was that following Monday and Crowley had just dropped Aziraphale off at work with a kiss and a promise to meet him at lunch. Aziraphale’s recovery had turned into a pleasant interlude of napping, being fussed over and snuggled and being read to when they weren’t talking or watching TV. 

He really didn’t know what wonderful thing he’d obviously done to deserve someone like Crowley. 

“Much better. Sorry about last week.” He looked sheepish. “But they put me out until today.”

“They should have,” Maddy said. “Everything’s fine here. It was super quiet.”

“You’ve got paper right there, you idiot! Look!” Ned’s printer was apparently under the impression it was out of paper again.

“ _Was_ quiet,” Aziraphale said with a laugh. 

“Hey, I just got back. I have to liven the place up somehow,” Ned said cheerfully, looking in. “You had it, too?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Crowley looked after me, though. He’s wonderful.”

“Who gave somebody pens?!” That was Prue, the office manager, also back and unhappy with the state of the supply room. “They cost money, you know!”

Aziraphale exchanged glances with Maddy and Holly. 

It was good to be back.


End file.
